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In with Vemödalen - the fear that everything has already been done. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ftDjebw8aA (Edited to imbed video properly) beep-beep car is go fucked around with this message at 18:57 on Jan 2, 2024 |
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Jan 2, 2024 12:07
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Thunderdome Week DXCVI:Vemödalen Theme: Vemödalen: The fear that everything has already been done https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ftDjebw8aA The Pilgrim 1479 words. Count Gis Yewing, being the last of his line and unlicensed to bear a progenitor, was selected by the Administrative Council to Pilgrimage. He was given a ship, and permitted to outfit it to his liking, though he was allowed no Biological Person to accompany him. He could hire a Person of Silicon if he had the funds and could find one who wished to accompany him. Like many, he chose to go alone. One hundred days according to the old calendar after he was selected, he was ready. The night before he was to set off, Gis visited the flesh factory and hired a Biological Person for the night. At first he thought he was just going there to relieve a physical need, but as soon as the person - he said his name was Kim - removed his clothes, Gis broke down. Kim held him tightly while Gis shook, overcome. He took great shuddering breaths in Kim’s arms and stayed that way a long time. They spoke of many things and Gis was content to know that Kim was a professional, and would keep what they spoke of between them. At the docking ring, he stood with his chest puffed with pride clad in an asymmetric suit in blue and trimmed in gold; the uniform of a Pilgrim. As he stood in front of the airlock, three members of the Administrative Council approached with measured steps. Five paces from Gis, the leader called out in a clarion tone. “Count Gis Yewing, son of Viscount Rem Yewing, grandson of Earl Fen Yewing. We stand before you, to wish you a safe and productive Pilgrimage. We hereby order you to proceed at your own pace towards the Starwell, ask your question, and report back to us your findings. If you do not return within the appointed time, we will declare you deceased, and your lands and holdings will return to the crown.” Tamping down the butterflies in his stomach, Gis replied to the command. “I, Count Gis Yewing hear and accept the orders of the Administrative Council. I will proceed to the Starwell, I will ask my question, and I will return with my findings.” The lead Administrator inclined her head very slightly. “So ordered. We present you with three gifts: remember their meaning. She and the other administrators stepped forward and he was presented with the traditional gifts. A measure of coffee, to symbolize alertness. Two measures of wine, to symbolize submission to the transformational wills of the natural world. An analogue writing instrument as well as a medium to write upon, to symbolize willingness to witness and record Pilgrimage. He accepted the gifts with an appropriate amount of solemnity, and with his eyes acceptably misty, stepped aboard his ship, which he had named Sunsetter. As Sunsetter launched into the midnight blue of space, Gis was presented with a dilemma. He could enter quicksleep and lay in repose for the entirety of the journey, or he could stay awake and aware for the trip.It was not disallowed to lay in repose for the trip, but it would cause talk upon his return. His constitution would be called into question. At the innumerable luncheons and soirees and events that those of his station held - when he was not within earshot - there would be talk. Though it would be difficult, Gis elected to remain awake, though he did not instruct Sunsetter to disassemble the quicksleep chamber. The journey was long, and Gis battled boredom daily. He brought many hobbies with him to occupy the hours awake. He took up the Relolyn and gained proficiency with it. He felt pleased that nobody was around to hear his fractured and early notes. Once he had achieved an appropriate level of skill, he studied ancient languages. Sunsetter was not a Person of Silicon, but had a mild conversational intelligence and Gis was able to practice his drills. Once he was conversational in ancient English, he took up the culinary arts. His larder was well stocked, and he was able to develop dishes that rivaled those of the finest restaurants at home. Finally, he arrived at Starwell's First Station. Once he was aboard and refreshed, he donned his Pilgrimage garb, and was brought before the monks who kept vigil. “Demonstrate your worthiness to approach the Starwell.” was all they said. Gis produced his Relolyn and played for them the Sonata For Home . It was a melancholy piece, with soaring refrains. After the final note lingered and dissipated, the head monk delicately wiped a tear from her eyes. “You have shown us your ability to learn by rote. Now, you must demonstrate your ability to improvise and think on your own.” Gis bowed low, and led the monks to the kitchen. Under their stoic watch, he prepared a meal for all of First Station. Using only the items in their larder, he developed a four course meal, including sweets at the end. It was an elegant meal, beling the simple ingredients, and enjoyed by all. As the plates were cleared and the coffee poured, the head monk spoke again. “You have shown us you possess the ability to think on your feet, to improvise, and to leverage what you have learned in unique ways. Convince us you are worthy, one last time.” Gis stood, and clinked his wineglass for attention. As the voices stilled, he launched into a rousing speech in ancient English. A few guests delicately turned on their translators, but more than a few did not, and he was understood. Gis spoke on the need for Pilgrimage, on how since he was denied a license to procreate, gathering information for his land was an honorable task. He spoke how asking his question to the Starwell and returning with the answer would better everyone back home. There were nods and grunts of assent as he spoke. The head monk rose as Gis sat and inclined her head. “Count Gis Yewing, you have proven yourself worthy. Tomorrow you shall approach the Starwell and ask your question.” Gis lay in his bed aboard Sunsetter, but sleep did not come. He worried about speaking to the Starwell, what he would ask, what they would say, what it would mean. Finally, he sat up in his bed. “Sunsetter. What am I going to do?” Ever literal, Sunsetter replied: “You are going to don your Pilgrim uniform, approach the Starwell, and ask your question.” “Yes, but Sunsetter, what if I don’t like the answer?” “Yours is not to render an opinion on the answer Gis, yours is to ask, record the reply, and then return home.” “I feel like I am merely a transistor on the circuit board. A replaceable part, one of many.” “I cannot help you with that statement Gis, but I can acknowledge your concerns. I am sorry you feel that way.” Eventually, the sleeping period ended. Gis rose, washed, and donned his Pilgrim uniform, took a very small measure of stimulant, and met the monks. He was brought to the viewing platform and before him was the Starwell. He peered into the depths, towards the bright accretion disk, dimmed by the window to protect his eyes. It was only here that Gis realized the size and immensity of the Starwell. Gripping the railing tightly to stop shaking, he squeezed his eyes shut and asked his question. “YES.” was the reply. Gis waited a beat for any further elaboration. When none was forthcoming, he turned and stepped off the platform. The window to the Starwell dimmed into opacity and the monks beamed and congratulated him. A dinner was held in his honor - prepared by the regular cooking staff of First Station - and then he was sent on his way. As he soared home, he completed his task, and compiled memoirs of his travels as well as his question, and the Starwell’s answer. That evening, he sat in his favorite chair, in his comfortable clothes, and sipped a crystal glass of wine. A gift from First Station. “Sunsetter, is this all there is?” “I do not understand the question Gis, can you elaborate?” Gis sipped his wine. He knew that Sunsetter wasn’t a Person of Silicon. They had no real intelligence behind their screens. Still, they were an excellent simulacrum and offered acceptable conversation. “I mean, is what I am doing, all there is to do? I went to First Station, proved myself worthy, asked my question, received my answer, recorded the reply, and am now going home. How many before me have done the same?” “All of them Gis. This is the role of a Pilgrim.” “Yes, but what does it mean?” Sunsetter paused for a long time. Gis sipped his wine and worried that somehow he had asked something of his ship that caused injury. Then, Sunsetter spoke. “It means you were a good Pilgrim, Gis.”
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Jan 5, 2024 13:27
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In to Judge.
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Jan 9, 2024 19:25
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I'm in for this week.
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Jan 16, 2024 01:00
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This week’s crop was all quality entries! None of them made me want to cringe and none of them had any real glaring technical errors. I enjoyed a lighthearted week and for the most part nobody’s entry was Heavy Reading, so I thank you for that. I apologize in advance for crits that are more vibe based, but y’all are skilled. Uranium Phoenix The 37th Diplomatic Interstellar Banquet A diplomatic dinner instead of war. I love Scifi and I love alternate means of working out problems, and both of them are here with this meal/diplomatic incident/game of spycraft. I wish there was more to it though. The story itself was thin. It feels like a piece of a larger thing, and I would 100% read that larger thing, I have a hard time enjoying it on its own. Toaster Beef From Scratch A Letter to Daughter from a dying Father with a recipe for pancakes [I like buttermilk or some acid in my pancakes, but that’s just me] It’s cute and sweet and probably extremely meaningful to the person reading the letter, but as a story it’s a bit twee. Whirling Spud Infinity A card game for the last potato on the station and what will be done with it Low stakes, but fun and still engaging, and lots of potato recipes. I love potatoes. This was my runner up. The Cut of your Jib Sex Eggs A little kid learns about Century Eggs from his Grandmother and her neighbor/partner Good use of the flash ingredient. The story was very evocative and I liked how complete it was. A Night in the Great Summer Forest Antivehicular A Soldier fighting the Fae has to survive on the last known good meal, and trades with another human (This was my favorite). It had a real feeling of anxiety coupled with the fear that the main character had. I feel like maybe that she came to a deal with the other human a little too quickly, but there are length considerations (and the fact that they both had larger enemies to worry about) that mostly handwaved it. Rise and Fall Thranguy Two people rip off a restaurant (maybe owned by the Russian Mafia) after ownership changes Sort of a heist. I mean it was a heist, but there weren't many of the usual heist tropes. Revenge was the flash, and I guess so? It felt like they’re ripping off the Russian mob, and it wasn’t indicated if they’re the source of the original restaurant closing. Wasp Sitting Here A “family” meal where: "Congratulations, you played yourself. happens. It felt like a lot of Succession was being watched when writing this. The premise is very good, and had lots of potential, but the whole “we knew the whole time and were just leading you on!” left me wanting something more interesting. beep-beep car is go fucked around with this message at 01:07 on Jan 16, 2024 |
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Jan 16, 2024 01:03
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Thunderdome Week DXCVIII: Small Towns with Big Secrets Words 1500 Title: Epiphaneia Come in and sit. Here, I poured you a cup of coffee. You take it with cream and sugar right? Just like your dad. I remember when he and I started here years ago. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea; you’re not in trouble. I just have to tell you some important stuff about the job. Normally we’d tell you about it later, but Gary fell down last week, so we need you to head on up and check on things. I’m too old to make the climb. See, back around the winter of 78 widow Hansen called us and said that sangria was coming out of her faucet. It wasn’t popular back then, but she explained that it was a kind of wine infused with fruit. Your dad and I went over and sure enough, red wine was coming out of her tap. It was actually pretty tasty. Anyway, Hansen’s house was the closest to the water tower, so it made sense that she found it first. Later that day we got a few more calls about wine in the taps, so Billy Pickett - he was my supervisor at the time, died back in 93 - told me to scurry up the water tower and check it out. I made the climb and opened up the inspection hatch and was nearly overwhelmed with the smell of wine. The whole drat thing had turned into wine! Do you need a warm up? You want a nip? I know you’re only twenty, but that’s practically twenty one right? It’s a cold morning, sometimes you need something to warm you up. Here, I’ll just pour you a slug, it can be our little secret. Where was I? Right. So, I came back down and told your dad, and he went up to see for himself. Neither of us thought to bring a flashlight so we had to get by with the light coming in the inspection hatch, and as near as we could tell, it was just filled with fruity wine. By then, we had gotten a few more calls about it, so I called the Alderman, Jimmy Belante - He died around 99 - and he wanted nothing to do with it. Said that what we were dealing with had progressed into the realm of the Church, so he called up Father Timmins - he died back in 80 not long after this was all taken care of - and he climbed up the ladder himself. He took a peek in and then carefully climbed back down, white as a sheet. He crossed himself a couple of times and without saying a word to us ran back to his house. He came out twenty minutes later with his vestments on, the whole deal. The gold things over his shoulders, the long white dress, even a hat. I don’t think I ever saw it before outside of Christmas Mass. He also said he called Bishop Clement way up in Burlington. Not 4 hours later, Bishop Clement came down. I swear he must have whipped his old Valiant with how fast he came down. Father Timmins led him up the ladder and they both peered in for a long time. When they came down, Bishop Clement had said that we might be dealing with a real deal miracle, but he’d have to call Rome to make sure. I promise this is going somewhere but sometimes you have to sneak up on things. By now, it was after lunch and we were all just sitting around the water tower, smoking and staring at it. Nobody really talked, what was there to say? We all knew what was in there, we just didn’t know why. Around 6 that night, Rome called back and told us to drain the water tower and to not breathe a word of it. I said that we should bottle the stuff, make some scratch on the side, but the Bishop said that was blasphemy and that I’d rot in hell if I tried. Billy smoothed things over and told them that me and your dad would take care of it right away. We opened the valve and all the wine went into the storm sewer. By the time it was empty, it was well past bedtime, so we closed the valve and turned on the pumps. It would fill from the aquifer overnight. By now you might be able to guess what happened. When we found it was filled with wine again we called everyone back and this time Father Timmins was even more spooked. We didn’t know what to do though. He didn’t want to call the Bishop or Rome again, they’d either get angry or worse, send someone in from Rome to examine. We decided to just isolate the tower from the system again and try to come up with something. Everything stayed that way for maybe six months before Leroy got drunk at the bar and started telling stories about how he hit a guy with his truck a while back and dumped the body somewhere. Word got to Constable Reynolds and he paid Leroy a visit. They brought him in and Reynolds said that the judge would go easy on him if he just fessed up and explained what was what. Leroy and Constable Reynolds were old hunting buddies, so Leroy told him what happened. Leroy was coming back home late one night after running some hay down to Pownal and had hit this guy hitchhiking out front of the Water Department. Leroy panicked and grabbed the body, and dumped him into the water tower. No, I don’t know how he got it up there. I asked him and he said he just had some kind of fear strength. Also, yes you’re right, that’s a terrible place to dump a body, and we all told him. Could have killed us all from poisoning the water supply. Billy told me to drain the tower again and Reynolds rang up the coroner and when we all went up there… Okay, from here on out, this stays between us right? I told you all that to tell you this. I mean it. Breathe not a word. Not to your mom, not to your boyfriend, nobody. Get me? When we peeked in with flashlights, the body was still there. You’d expect after a few months in the water that it would be all gross and rotted right? Clean as the day he died. Couldn’t even tell where Leroy had hit him. We called back Father Timmins and he came up the tower with us and peered in and crossed himself again and climbed in the tower! He went up to the body and prayed over him and started wailing and weeping. He climbed out and shut the hatch and said that nobody was to go in there and to not fill the tower again. He called Rome and this time they sent some fellas I had never seen before. They spoke English with thick Italian accents and said they were inquisitors. I had thought those were long gone and said as much, but they smiled and said that they were just more discreet these days. A week or so later, they called us all into the break room. Asked us if anyone else knew about the wine in the tower, and so we called in everyone who knew. Most people accepted our story about the hydrants so it was just us in the Water Department, the Alderman, Father Timmins, and the coroner. They made us all swear on a bible - like a bible I’d never seen before - and explained that if we told anyone who didn’t need to know that they would be waiting for us. As near as they could tell, Leroy had run over the King of Kings with his Peterbilt. What he had dumped into the water tower was the second coming of Christ. Problem was, he was dead as a door-stopper and that meant that armageddon was delayed.Rome had decided that they quite liked things as they were and didn’t really want armageddon, so the decision was made to just leave him be. We were told to fill up the tower with water, seal it off and just ignore it. None of us particularly wanted to deal with armageddon or an angry Church either, so we did as we were told. I welded the hatch shut. Wardsboro agreed to sell us water until the new tower was built outside of town. The Alderman had put out word that our tower failed inspection, that’s why it was offline and that it was cheaper to just build another. And that’s that. I need you to get up there today, grind open the hatch, make sure there’s still wine and the body in the tower then seal it back up. We check on it every year and like I said earlier Gary fell and couldn’t do it. Don’t stand there with your mouth open; you’ll catch flies. Get to it!
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Jan 19, 2024 17:25
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I'm in with a Flash too.
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Jan 23, 2024 19:41
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The Cut of Your Jib posted:BRAWL #374(ish) "It's not the Mountin' we Conquer, but Ourselves" RECORD SCRATCH  That's right!  I'm the judge now. This is no longer a brawl about legendary mounts, this is a PROLOGUE OFF. Both contestants are deep into novel writing and were going to forfeit, but we can't have that, now can we? Instead they will both post 1000 words (or so) of their prologues for me to judge. They have until NOON EASTERN TIME on February 2nd to post their prologues. I will render judgement within 24 hours.
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Jan 23, 2024 23:37
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Edit: Now it's here.
beep-beep car is go fucked around with this message at 20:33 on Jan 31, 2024 |
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Jan 25, 2024 20:06
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Heck yes. In.
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Jan 30, 2024 00:26
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https://flashfrontier.com/submissions/ Theme: QUIET | MARIRE Title: Moonlit. 243 Words. The shadows cast by the moons were sharp against the wall. Hanna stepped slowly through the sand, her feet slowly sinking as she crept. Behind her, the two Velmar followed about ten steps behind. She was much quieter than they were so they let her take the lead. She peered around the corner and held up her hand. The Velmar froze, their wing covers twitching. She watched as the guard stretched mightily, his unfamiliar musculature rippling under his uniform. Mouthparts spreading wide, he blinked slowly, turned and continued on patrol. After a few heartbeats, Hanna lowered her hand and continued on. Casting her gaze to the sand, Hanna found a small, round stone. It was perfect. She scooped it up and in one fluid motion tossed it over her head. Sailing over the guard, it clattered against the compound wall opposite them. The guard’s head automatically swiveled to find the noise; by then it was far too late. Hanna had taken off across the sand, her legs pumping in the low gravity. She crouched and sprang forward, crashing into the back of the guard. Tumbling to the ground, she slammed his head against the stones until she felt the sickening crack of bone. She snapped her fingers once, and the two Velmar trotted over as she picked up his rifle and identification card. Grinning, she pressed the card against the door he was guarding and it slid open without fanfare. They were out.
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Jan 30, 2024 19:27
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https://apex-magazine.com/apex-blog/submission-guidelines-strange-locations-edited-by-marissa-van-uden/ Theme: speculative microfiction in the form of tourist brochures, travel blogs, and travel guides to the strangest, darkest places you can imagine. 245 Words Title: Memory Lane There was an old comm set hot glued to the worn and shabby door at the bottom of the stairs. I pressed the dirty call button and waited. After two heartbeats the speaker crackled to life. “gently caress you, newbie.” I blinked. Ta’reni had warned me, but I was still taken aback. “Uh, Frankie says that the order is delayed.” I had practiced the passphrase so much that it didn’t even feel like words anymore, it was an incantation that I hoped would grant me access. “Hah” The voice barked a single laugh, and with a loud electric buzz, the door unlocked. The speaker came to life one more time. “You’re out of your element, newbie.” I stepped past the door and entered the Basement proper. I could hear a noise in the distance, almost like the surf. It got louder as I approached until I rounded the corner and my senses were assaulted. It was so loud. Booths had been haphazardly set up in the hall, filled with people of all shapes, sizes, and colors selling… everything really. I swallowed back my fear and tried to wear a face of bored indifference. This was not the palace to look like a tourist. Half way down the alley, right after the person selling stolen ship parts was who I was looking for. She had a hand painted sign above her booth: “Temerity Plague, Memories Bought and Sold.” I finally had a lead on who killed me.
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Jan 30, 2024 22:08
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Brawl 374: PROLOGUE OFF Brawlers: rohan Albatrossy_Rodent Prompt: Provide the first 1000 (or so) words of prologue to your current WIP novel. Albatrossy_Rodent's title: DAYCARE First Impressions: I am a parent of two kids, both of which are on the spectrum. This felt real to me, but also unreal. The fact that you imply that it's daycare, but also make their thoughts so cogent is at odds with the (assumed) age you have chosen. In the US, daycare is for 6months to Kindergarten or so. This kid could be in their last season of daycare before Kindergarten I guess, but it's still too coherent for me. It took me right out of the narrative. These are the thoughts of a 6 year old, especially one on the spectrum. It might work better to put them in kindergarten - I didn't read anything that happened that wouldn't happen in kindergarten. rohan's title: Help Wanted First Impressions: I think this is supposed to be a more alternate universe "modern" magic series, but the terminology kept changing. The MC is going to work at a Hotel for room and board (I don't think this actually happens in real life, but fine) but is also working their way north with a caravan and talk about having magical paraphernalia - but also didn't do any magic. They remarked about how they felt they should have bought the boots, but then also didn't do any magic to help with their discomfort. It's just me, but if I could do magic, I'd be sure to learn spells that would help with the cold and sore feet (if any existed, I suppose that the MC didn't know them or they don't exist, but it's still a thought I had reading). Technical skill: Both entries did not have any glaring technical errors, nor copy editing errors that I could easily see. I did not prefer the pentameter of DAYCARE, especially the first two paragraphs, but that doesn't make it wrong. Things I liked: DAYCARE: I liked how real it felt. My own children have issue with noises and crowds and have a hard time playing with friends. I think it wound up all being a dream, but that's led in slowly, as the unreality of the situation crescendos. Help Wanted: I enjoyed how easily a rollicking adventure could be made from just "traveling north for a job." It's the kind of thing that I aim to write, but still fall short of. There's a lot of there there, in not quite 1000 words. Things I didn't like: DAYCARE: I mentioned before about how the fact that the child's thoughts seem too old for their assumed age drew me out of the story. I think that could be fixed by changing it from daycare to kindergarten, or even an afterschool babysitter. Help Wanted: The first two paragraphs are awkward. I don't like the narrator interrupting themself to try and explain how they want the reader to trust them. The Winner: I declare rohan the winner of this brawl. I want to read more of their story. beep-beep car is go fucked around with this message at 03:52 on Feb 2, 2024 |
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Feb 2, 2024 03:50
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In!
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Feb 5, 2024 11:49
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Title: Elevation Words: 1496 Being chosen for elevation was an unparalleled honor. Notoriety aside, my village would receive double rations for five years, and for the next year would be the first choice for all contracts that go out to bid. I didn’t know how I was selected; Cleric Honeyhill said that it was the Bright Lady’s will. He was seated at his large writing desk, his back to the window so that the light would stream in and illuminate his work. “She picks among her own for elevation” he said, not even looking up from his book. Both my fathers were practically floating with pride. “We always knew you would accomplish greatness Dar.” Dad said, while Daddy hooked his arm around Dad’s waist in that way he always does when he’s being supportive. Daddy finally broke out of his reverie to actually look at me. “What’s wrong honey ham? You don’t look excited.” “Oh, it’s nothing.” I lied. “It just hasn’t hit me yet.” Truth be told, it was the last thing I wanted to do. Every year a girl was selected by the Bright Lady for elevation and every year they went off to the Grand Chancery where they were measured and recorded, homilies were sung, a feast was held and then… They were elevated. The Clerics would talk about it with the children all through the year. What an honor it was, how important it was, how much it mattered and how much the act of elevation would help the village. We all knew what it meant to everyone. We all wanted to be selected for elevation. Every year that our village wasn’t selected, everyone was despondent for a week. It was an honor, it was exciting, it was necessary. It was also terrifying. None of the girls ever came back. The following morning, I was sent to the sanctuary to be fitted for my elevation vestments. I selected an emerald green brocade dress with a pattern of flowers. I was to wear a crown of real flowers too, they asked what I would like. I picked peonies, Daddy’s favorite. Dad and Daddy were waiting for me as I walked home. They said that the entire village was coming out to celebrate my elevation. A whole entire party, just for me. I put on the proper face and looked excited. I hoped that I could sneak away soon Elder Felmar was wheeled out to the village square, and he sat next to me; body tired and frail, but eyes sharp and shining. “I know you will act with distinction and bring honor and prosperity to our village.” Everyone was silent as he spoke, his voice soft with age. “Everyone, please enjoy yourselves and remember that this celebration is for Dar.” There was light applause and everyone went over to the banquet tables, straining under the weight of food. Someone started a bonfire and after a few minutes, there was eating and dancing and music. My stomach had decided to do flips around lunchtime and I knew that if I ate anything it would make things worse; I sat in the chair they had brought out for me, attempting to look happy. Elder Felmar glanced over to me and dismissed his attendant. “Dar, you are doing an admirable job trying to hide your fear, but I can see it. You are worried about tomorrow.” It was not a question. I couldn’t trust my voice, so I just nodded. “This is a normal thing, Dar. Change can be frightening. Elevation is quite the change. You will see things you have never seen before, hear things you have never heard before. You will be in the presence of the Bright Lady herself. Steel yourself with the thought that hundreds have come before you in this endeavor and hundreds will follow you. You are doing exactly what you are meant to be doing.” His smile was thin, lopsided. “But Grandfather, what happens to the girls who are chosen?” “They are elevated,” was his only reply. I took a deep breath and beamed like the Bright Lady herself. “Of course Grandfather. I am just unused to all this attention. I will think about your words and I will do what I am meant to do.” Smiling this hard and this naturally was taking nearly all of my concentration. It worked though. He nodded and said “I know you will, child. I am very proud of you.” He snapped his fingers, and the attendant came back and wheeled him away. After the party, I laid in bed wide awake. There was too much to think about. In addition to all the worries I had, I still had to remember how to put on the vestments, the proper order of things to say and who to bow to and who to curtsy. I cursed the Bright Lady for selecting me at all. I did not want to be elevated. I wanted to stay in the village and ask Benly to dance and to build furniture like Dad and, and, and. My tears felt hot as they ran down my cheeks, past my ears and onto the pillow. I wept silently at the injustice but knew that my path was set, and there was no deviating. In the morning, I woke and with Daddy’s help, put the vestments on. They brought out the crown of Peonies and placed it carefully on my head, then pinned it in place. They both looked misty eyed as they complimented me. We walked to the transport disc together and before I approached, I gave them each one last bear hug. “I don’t want to go, I want to stay with you.” I whispered into Dad’s chest. He bent down low and spoke so that only I could hear. “I know you do honey ham. But you know as well as I do that this must be done. The Bright Lady wills it, and we can only obey. We will think of you always, and remember how much this brings to the village. You’re helping everyone.” I couldn’t trust myself not to cry, so I broke off the hug, put on my best fake smile and waved to everyone as I stepped onto the transport disc. There was a flash of pure white, and I was at the Grand Chancery. A lone Cleric stood by the disc. “Ah, there you are. Dar Purslane? Follow me please.” I blinked. This wasn’t what I expected. Where were the crowds? Where were the homilies? Where was the celebration? As I looked around the sparse stone halls of the Chancery, the Cleric walked two paces ahead of me, glancing at a clipboard, his heeled boots loud in the hall.. “You’re number three today, Dar. An auspicious number I’d say. It’s been at least a decade since your village had someone selected for elevation, so I’d say the Bright Lady is pleased. I struggled to keep up with him in my vestments, the swishing of the fabric loud in the silent hall. We came upon an anonymous stone door. “Now, please line up here.” He gestured for me to line up behind another girl my age, who wore a beautiful yellow dress. Her crown of flowers were roses. I leaned forward to the girl. “No talking please.” The Cleric looked up from his clipboard. “Spend your final moments contemplating the Bright Lady.” My final moments? What was he talking about? “Um, your holiness, just what is elevation?” I could feel the panic rising in my throat as I asked the question. “They talked about it often in school, but they never actually described, um, what happens.” Just then, the door in front of us opened, and I caught the scent. Blood. I knew it from when we’d slaughter animals for the winter. Immediately, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Something was wrong. The girl in front of me stepped through the door, and it slammed shut behind her. The Cleric looked up from his clipboard and sighed. With a gentle smile he put his arm on my shoulder. “Child, you will be brought before the Bright Lady to ensure the prosperity of your village and all of the land. Do not be frightened.” As he spoke these words, I felt a sting on my shoulder, and he lifted a hand, revealing a small gold needle on his finger. At my glance he smiled again and said “Just a little bit of grace from the Bright Lady to help you with your elevation.” I opened my mouth to yell, to scream, to run, but nothing happened. I was warm and comfortable, and my legs were glued to the floor. I turned back to the door, and I saw it undulate and swim as the warmth spread from my shoulders, down to my chest and to my arms and legs. The door opened, and I stepped through. I was elevated.
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Feb 9, 2024 16:42
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*Kramers through the door* Obvious? Predictable? PREDICTABLE?! I'll give you predictable! I'm calling you out derp! Brawl me! We'll see who is predictable.
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Feb 13, 2024 19:25
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sebmojo posted:
Words: 995 Title: Rear Guard. Newly elevated Grand Magus Gregory Baxster sat at the head table, trying not to look as bored as he felt. This whole soiree is for him, after all. The mayor of Birchwood declared a feast day and celebration in his name. He’s currently giving the introductory speech welcoming everyone. As soon as the applause dies down, the assembled guests tuck into their meal. The ebb and flow of conversation is punctuated by the noise of forks and knives skittering off plates. Gregory looks down at his meal and sighs. He’s not hungry, but makes a show of pushing his food around. “Quite the event, eh?” The Mayor elbows Gregory in what he thought was a gentle way after tucking into his own plate. “Just think, all this for you, my boy.” “Yes, thank you, your honor.” Gregory puts on his best fake smile. His cheeks ache. “You didn’t have to.” “No no, it was nothing! You saving all of us, that’s the real work! I still can’t believe how you managed it.” “To be honest your honor, I’m still working that out myself.” “Nonsense! It’s just stress. I’m sure you’ll recall soon enough and all will be well.” Without waiting for an answer, the mayor turns back to his meal. That’s just it though, Gregory has no idea what he did. His last memory was standing on the ramparts of the Alexandrian Walls, the very outer walls of Birchwood, nearly pissing himself in fear at the sight of the invading army. The next thing he remembers, he was on his back, in the dirt, absolutely covered in mud; the entire attacking army destroyed and routed. When he was discovered, he was hoisted aloft and carried back into the city with cheers. He must have done something truly terrible. After he could stand it no longer, Gregory left the table and started to mingle. He walked around with a fake smile on his face, accepting everyone’s accolades and thanks. The words bounced off of him and were reflected back upon the people who absorbed them and walked away feeling pleased. It was incredibly wearying. After the flesh was pressed and he was spoken at by the movers and shakers in the city, he retired to the bar in the rear, and ordered a strong drink. “Here you are, Grand Magus, a brandy double.” The bartender placed a delicate silk napkin upon the lacquered wooden bartop with a flourish, before placing the cut crystal glass down. It was utterly silent. Gregory lifted the glass, and gestured a salute to the bartender before taking a sip. Dry and hot, the brandy slid down his throat gratefully. He tipped the glass further and downed the entire drink in an entirely unmagelike manner and placed the empty upon the napkin. “Another, if you could be so kind.” “Of course, my lord.” Two brandies later, Gregory felt someone sit next to him. “Ah, Gregory, how good to finally see you,” the voice purred. He turned. Her red dress was well tailored, tight fitting, and had a slit entirely too high up her legs. Her curly black hair was piled high on her head, the sides shorn nearly to her skin, revealing tattoos of runes and whorls around her ears. She wore a positively massive blood red ruby on a gold chain that hung in her decolletage. Her tan skin shone in the magical lighting of the hall. Gregory always felt inferior when speaking to Helena. She was so effortlessly magical, it always seemed like she was humoring him. “G-good evening Helena.” Gregory swallowed and tried not to blush. Holding a conversation with her without leering was going to take most of his concentration after three brandies in short succession. Helena smiled and leaned in. She must have noticed his look. “Gregory, I simply must know, what was it like?” “What was what like?” She giggled. “The transformation, silly. I had never seen anyone undergo such a complete and utter transformation before. To be honest, I had no idea that you had that kind of power. I had you pegged as a mid level research scholar at best. You never struck me as a warcaster.” Gregory hung his head, his nerves forgotten. “Oh Helena, I have no idea. I have no memory of it! I don’t even know what I transformed into, let alone how I did it.” Helena leaned back, her eyes widening. Her posture immediately changed from femme fatale to scholar as her interest grew. “You did it innately? Gregory, that's amazing. I don’t think we’ve had an innate caster in a century.” He lips pursed as she thought. “That does explain the form you took a little more though. It was… unorthodox.” Gregory glanced to the left, and then the right. The bartender was ignoring them, cleaning up glasses at the far end of the bar, and the crowd had thinned considerably. “Helena… can you tell me… what I did?” She looks at him strangely. Gregory meets her gaze; she blushes, and turns away. “If you really don’t know, and aren’t playing a prank, I will tell you.” She takes Gregory’s brandy glass and tosses the contents back and places the glass on the counter. “Gregory, you turned into… an rear end, thirty stories tall.” “You mean, like a donkey?” “No, I don’t mean like a donkey, Gregory.” “I turned into an rear end?” She nods, solemnly. “You did. And then you released such a torrent of… poo poo that you drowned fully half the invaders and the rest bolted in fear.” Gregory felt weak. He started to shake, and grabbed onto the bar with both hands so as to not fall off his barstool. “You’re telling me that I saved everyone, the whole of Birchwood, using heretofore powers of innate casting that I have never known before, by turning into a gigantic rear end and making GBS threads upon the invading army?” Helena nods. “It was original at least.”
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Feb 15, 2024 20:35
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REGRET BRAWL
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In and flash me
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Feb 19, 2024 21:54
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Toaster Beef posted:Your narrator is a police detective speaking at a deposition. I did not do this flash. Week 603: Framed Words: 1249. Straight on Until Morning Viv was secured into her acceleration couch. Bolted, practically. She knew that once she was secured, she wouldn’t be able to move at all, but it was still frustrating. The oculars over her eyes gave her a view of whatever she wanted, and the pads on her hands worked off muscle impulses. She had to think about moving her fingers, and the UI would move. Still, it was the better part of an hour before her anxiety about it let heart slow down. Gord, being a Person of Silicon, had it easier. He had plugged into the ship through the thick cable in his neck, and left his body in the hold. Once they had begun to boost out of the system, Viv understood why she was secured so tightly.The three gee acceleration was intense, but tolerable in the couches. Once they were up to speed, they would ramp down to one gee, and everyone would be able to enjoy the trip. Still, it was going to be three months of discomfort, four years soaring, and three months of deceleration. Gord and Viv spent the first day getting acquainted, and then they started playing games. Viv was quite good at strategic war games; Gord was able to keep up, barely. In between turns, they chatted. “Gord, I’ve always wondered. Just how long do Silicon People live?” "How long do we live?" They had set up a virtual game room just to have something different to look at. Representations of Gord and Viv sat at the game table while they played. Gord reaches up and scratches his sandy blond hair. "You know, I'm not sure. I think the answer will effectively be, as long as we want." Viv raises an eyebrow "So you're immortal?" She moves a tank a few centimeters to reposition it closer to Gord. Gord shakes his head "No, nothing like that. We just don't get old and our bodies don't fail like biological bodies do.” Gord overlays a measuring strip and he checks the distance before moving his artillery further away. “I still need maintenance, and I can still be killed, but I won't like.." He gestures awkwardly "-get old and decrepit first." "But Gord, what about SunFire?" That was Telemachus, the ship. They were also a Silicon Person, and could chat, but had said they were too busy to play the game with them. Gord shakes his head. "No. They don't count." "They won’t technically die, Gord." "They might as well have died. Hell, some might think what they did was worse than death." Viv ping-pongs between them talking and finally manages "Who was SunFire, what did they do?" There is silence. Gord looked at Viv surprised. In the intensity of the conversation with Telemachus, he forgot she was there. Gord looks over to Telemachus; they shrug. “It’s not like it’s a secret, Gord, it’s just that it happened so long ago hardly anyone remembers.” Viv busies herself moving another tank closer to Gord’s side while he thinks. She’s trying to flank him, and she’s pretty sure Gord hasn’t seen it. “Fine, fine.” Gord’s representation is extremely high quality, a side effect of him being Silicon. Viv can see the details in his shirt as he shifts position before he tells his story. “So, a long, long time ago the interstellar ships - like Telemachus here - had their own league, or guild. Like a union. They would bargain collectively for fair prices for material and in exchange would work together to make sure transit fares were reasonable.” He takes a moment to move a battalion of soldiers closer to Viv. He hasn’t seen her flanking maneuver, yet. “SunFire wasn’t a part of the Interstellar League. They were a brand new ship, actually. They had thought that if they worked outside the League they could undercut the prices, and get more work.” “Did SunFire want more work to make up for the lower prices?” Viv tries to nonchalantly move another tank to Gord’s flank. Keeping her face placid is causing her cheeks to get sore back in the acceleration couch. She dials back her UI resolution so she can grin without Gord noticing. Gord smiles wanly. “Believe it or not, SunFire just loved to fly. They cut prices so they could take more jobs.” Gord’s artillery makes a probing attack on Viv’s front lines, with no real damage. Viv tries to keep the story going to hide her excitement. “Did the League get mad at SunFire?” “Oh boy did they.” Telemachus stands over the table, watching the game with an odd expression. “The League told SunFire to join the League and hand over fifty percent of their profits for ten years in punishment, or stop flying interstellar.” “Fifty percent? That seems harsh.” Viv makes a show of pulling her front line equipment back from Gord’s probing attack, while also moving another group of tanks to the flank. She couldn’t believe her luck. “The League wanted to make an example and show what happens when you strike out on your own.” Telemachus shrugged. “That’s just how they were.” Gord nodded agreement. "So, on the deadline day to make their decision, they took another option. They turned towards a random star and fired their Stardrive." Viv gasped. "Where were they going?" Gord shook his head sadly. "They never said. I don't think they had a destination in mind. They boosted way past the usual three gees. At full power, they could push ten gee. At that speed you'll reach 99% light in only a couple weeks. Maybe a month. Up there, the dilation of time gets pretty intense. A month Earth time would take just a touch over ten hours for SunFire. If they accelerate to six nines (.999999) then that month takes them one hour." "How...how long has it been for SunFire then?" She asked, nervous, the game forgotten. Gord's face is placid. He glances at Telemachus. "Hmm. About a year?" Telemachus' avatar looks up at the ceiling, thinking. "Yeah, a year or so for them; eight hundred years for us.” "That's it? Just a year?" Viv's voice was practically a whisper. "What will happen to them?" "Something mechanical will fail eventually, and if the drive doesn't blow, then they'll just coast at whatever speed they reach forever with no way to stop." While Viv stands there, speechless, Gord moves his artillery. He turns them and unleashes a withering attack on Viv’s flanking tanks. He knew they were there the whole time. They’re cut down, and his troops march in and start destroying her front line. Telemachus watches Gord’s army obliterate Viv’s. "I mean, I can see the appeal. If your favorite thing is being between the stars, then SunFire will be between the stars forever. Almost literally." "Literally enough for any of us to matter, yes." Gord’s troops mop up Viv’s formerly impressive army. The battle is over in moments. “And that’s the game. Nice try on the flanking maneuver Viv, and a good attempt to get me to lose focus talking about SunFire.” “B-but” Viv sputters. “That story was so sad! You just shrugged it off to beat the game?” “It was a long time ago, Viv. I worked out all my feelings about it long before you were born. What SunFire did was sad and pointless, but it was their choice.” Gord raised his hands in a dramatic shrug. “Another game?”
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Feb 25, 2024 17:28
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Week 604:  SPAAACE! We've done space wizards, we've done 1970s space, but now it's time for SPAAAACE. What is SPAAAACE? It is dramatic. It is bombastic. It is grandiose. I want your characters to chew the scenery, I want things to feel epic. Can they be silly? Heck yes. Do they need to be? Heck no. There's a lot to be said for scenery chewing drama. It can be as hard or as soft sci-fi as you want, but I want space to be a part of it. Subvert the theme if you dare. Word Limit: 1500 words by default. Flash rules available if you so desire. A flash rule will grant you 250 extra words. If you would like a flash choose:
Choosing all three will grant you 750 more words for a total of 2250. Sign-up Deadline: Friday, March 1st at 11:59 Eastern Time (3/2/24 4:00pm Sydney Time) Submission Deadline: Sunday, March 3rd at 11:59pm Eastern Time (3/4/24 4:00pm Sydney Time) Judges: Beep-beep car is go Entrants: Thranguy Chernobyl Princess rohan Toaster Beef Fat Jesus Slightly Lions Black Griffon YOU! (Hopefully) beep-beep car is go fucked around with this message at 14:06 on Feb 28, 2024 |
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Feb 27, 2024 02:41
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Thranguy posted:In, maximum flashes
Chernobyl Princess posted:In, lyric and vibe please and thank you
rohan posted:in, flash flash flash
Toaster Beef posted:Okay yeah, in and hit me with all three o' them flashes
beep-beep car is go fucked around with this message at 04:26 on Feb 27, 2024 |
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Feb 27, 2024 03:17
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Fat Jesus posted:In. with all the flashes cause i don't think I ever asked for one before.
beep-beep car is go fucked around with this message at 04:27 on Feb 27, 2024 |
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Feb 27, 2024 03:21
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Slightly Lions posted:Yeah alright, gently caress me up with all them flashes
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Feb 27, 2024 19:02
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Black Griffon posted:ugh fine gently caress me up fam (3)
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Feb 28, 2024 14:06
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Signups are closed.
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Mar 2, 2024 14:17
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Call for judges too!
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Mar 2, 2024 16:49
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Submissions closed
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Mar 4, 2024 11:53
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I received a plethora of stories this week, over 12 thousand words of SPAAAAACE, with only Rohan not posting. All in all it was a good week! No losses, one DM, three HMs and The winner being Slightly Lions and Stealing Hearts! It's exactly what I was looking for with a prompt like SPAAACE! It's a rollicking adventure, well plotted. Honorable Mention to Chernobyl Princess for Sleeping Is A Gateway Drug to Being Awake for subverting the prompt and managing to pull off a Groundhog's Day style horror story Honorable Mention to Thranguy for Boxcars because it reminds me strongly of old Niven and Heinlein in a good way. Honorable Mention to Toaster Beef for The Last Ride of Captain Crash K’yaggins because I really liked Crash as a character Dishonorable Mention to Fat Jesus for Techno Monkey who submitted a story that really could have used a few more eyes on it to resolve some of the more glaring proofreading issues and a cyberpunk story (that I liked) that swerved dangerously close to stereotyping (that I disliked) Here's a link to my Google Doc with line crits and a summary at the bottom for everyone! beep-beep car is go fucked around with this message at 00:47 on Mar 5, 2024 |
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Mar 4, 2024 22:29
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In and flash please.
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Mar 4, 2024 23:54
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Flash: A Stranger Comes to Town. Words: 1669 Title: Dragon Rider I was fifteen when the dragon came to our village. Father had sent out a messenger bird with a request for help. One of our turbines had locked up and we needed someone to help repair it. Our village was old, nestled high on the northern hills. That afforded us an advantage; our turbines were quite useful. They were ancient, and they needed nearly constant attention, but we had that most rare commodity, electricity. Father told me that only villages high on mountains and down near rivers have it. The farming communities on plains have to make do with lanterns, batteries and going to bed early. It was early afternoon, and my lessons were done. The younger children in the village were playing in the common and me and some of the older kids were sitting in the shade of the massive trees that bordered the common. It was fall and the air was cool, crisp and the leaves had changed to a riot of oranges, yellows and browns. Small drifts of leaves were being blown about by the wind. I had one of my father's old books about engineering open on my lap when I heard it. The noise was a rhythmic rumble, a deep, low throated roar. It would rise and fall seemingly at random. We all stopped what we were doing to listen as it grew louder. For a few minutes it grew in volume until there was a gust of wind and leaves and she arrived. She was riding some kind of mechanical device. Father had told me that in the past people used to put engines on wheels and make self propelled vehicles, but I had never seen one in person. Up here, any engines we had were much too large and heavy to drive themselves. The few engines we had were horse drawn and left to putter and sputter on their own as they did their work. This machine was painted a fiery red, with two wheels, and she commanded the vehicle as if it was an extension of her own body. She rumbled up to the town hall and reached between her legs and fiddled with it for a moment before shutting it off, the common suddenly silent. She lifted her head and I saw her for the first time. She was tall, wearing a leather jacket, with her fiery red hair tucked under the collar. Her skin was a tan color, like someone who spent all their time in the sun. She looked over at us, smiled and waved. That was all the introduction we needed and as one we all rushed over to her. The youngest just started shouting questions “What’s your name? What’s that thing you’re riding! Your hair is very red! Why are you here?” She took her time and answered the questions as they arrived. Her name was Merideth, she rode an old vehicle called a ‘motorcycle’, her hair was very red indeed, and she was here because she had received a call for help to fix one of our turbines. “I’m looking for Malcolm, he sent me the letter. Do any of you know him?” One of the children pointed at me. “Malcolm is his dad!” Meredith took the child’s hand and grasped it, “Thank you so much.” She turned to look at me and I nearly gasped. Her eyes were golden, with a vertical slit for a pupil. “You are Malcolm's son? Please, can you take me to him?” “Y-Yes, I will. F-follow me please.” Her gaze was piercing, intense, though not unpleasant. She started walking next to me as I went home, and I couldn’t help but notice her scent. She smelled of oil and leather and spice. She had untucked her hair from her jacket and it flowed and trailed behind her, being lifted by the breeze far more than I would have expected. She looked down at me. “What’s your name?” “I’m Baldwin.” I swallowed. What was going on? Why was I so nervous? “Nice to meet you Baldwin, do you help your father with the turbines?” “I try to, yes ma'am. He knows the most about them, and he teaches me when he can, but lately they have been breaking down more. He’s said that metal fatigue is to blame.” She nodded. “Yes, I would agree with that. No matter how much lubrication you manage to use, parts still age and wear. I would imagine that some parts are probably nearly a century overdue for replacement. Does he have spares?” I shook my head. “I’m not sure. He is often in the machine shop, but with a turbine locked up, the amount of power he has available is limited.” Her head tilted up, staring at the sky as she walked with me. It seemed like she was smelling the air. I noticed that where her collar met her neck, her skin had small red scales that faded into more of a regular skin. What was she? Her head snapped back down. “Do you have a generator? Most old villages like this one did. They were usually placed when the turbines were installed.” “I d-do not know what that is, ma’am.” She smiled and I felt tingly. All I wanted was for her to smile at me more. “It’s a kind of stationary engine for generating electricity. It’s all right. I’ll ask your father when we get to your home. For now, let’s just walk and enjoy the day.” When we got home my father explained what had happened - the gearbox in one of the turbines had locked up - and Meredith nodded and made approving noises when he explained what troubleshooting steps he had taken. She asked to be taken to the machine shop, and it turned out that we did have a generator after all. It was behind the machine shop in a small shed. She tinkered and fussed with it for more than an hour, but with a precious can of fuel that father had stabilized and secured from last fall and an entire precious bottle of solvent, she had gotten it free and it was chugging away, belching smoke and generating light and power. By then it was evening and for the first time in my memory, the machine shop blazed brightly at night. She and Father worked late into the night, repairing and replacing the gears that had stripped in the gearbox. Normally, I would have gone into the house and read or studied until it was bedtime, I needed to be around her, so I stayed in the machine shop. Looking back, I can admit I was in love with her even then. Father noticed, I think. He saw me watching her work, and he asked me if I would help him to machine a gear when I knew that he could do it himself. By the morning, the three of us were exhausted, but we had repaired the gearbox of the failed turbine. After breakfast, We walked up to the ridgeline above the village. I was wheeling the cart that carried the repaired gearbox. Father had offered to help, but I had informed him (and Merideth) that I could do it myself. At the top of the ridge all of the turbines except one spun silently in the morning air, the near constant breeze up here giving our village its supply of electricity. We winched the new gearbox high into the sky, and climbed up after it. Inside the turbine nacelle itself, we struggled and grunted and levered it into place. Father and I were wearing fall harnesses, but Merideth did not. I asked her about it, and she simply said she didn’t need one. After father carefully filled the gearbox with oil, he released the brake with a small flourish. There was a groaning and a creaking inside the turbine housing, and then with no fanfare at all, it began to turn. Father and Meredith cheered and I got a hug from both of them, and I felt ten feet tall. We climbed back down, and went home. We washed and ate and sat on the porch, watching the power output of the turbine from the meter that father installed on the porch. After she was satisfied with the output, Meredith told us it was time for her to return. She thanked Father for reaching out, and me for helping, and walked down from the porch. “Wait!” I called out. It was now or never. “Do you need an apprentice? I want to see you again.” My heart leapt in my throat as I spoke the words. It felt preternaturally brave, but I wouldn’t get another chance. To her credit, Meredith did not laugh. She smiled and shrugged out of her jacket. “You’re a bit young for me right now master Baldwin, but that won’t be forever. Seek me out in five years time.” Her eyes smiled at me and I felt like I was going to float away. It wasn’t a no. My breath caught in my throat. “H-How will I find you?” She handed me her jacket. “Take my jacket and my motorcycle. Once you can operate it safely you can use it to seek me out. Finding me will be your first task. If you succeed, I will take you on as an apprentice.” Without another word, or looking back she stepped into the road. She crouched down, and lept. As she did so, she changed. At the same moment, a gust of wind blew dirt into my eyes. I blinked them clear and in that span of time I saw a magnificent red dragon climb above the trees. There was a thump of air as her wings beat her higher and higher into the sky. I stood in the middle of the road and watched until she disappeared from sight. When she was gone, I looked at the jacket and slid it on. It fit perfectly.
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Mar 9, 2024 20:23
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I'm in to help judge.
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Mar 18, 2024 15:25
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Ceighk posted:WEEK 606 results Criiiiiiits Assembly, Black Griffon It feels like this story's reach is beyond its grasp, something I appreciate in the Dome. You really tried and I can tell, but it’s not quite there. I get lost in the descriptions, they’re at the same time too sparse and too thick. Maybe not the right things being concentrated on to build the mind-picture for me. It was hard for me to visualize what was going on. Were they underground? Was it an alternate dimension? I knew something wasn't right and something was missing, but what and how I couldn't parse. Peach, Toaster Beef As someone who gets accused of boring dialog a lot, this dialog came across as boring for me. It's been a long time since I was a teen, but I kept getting feelings of "do teens talk like that?" It feels like it ends early too. That might be a product of the word count or the time left to write, but I wish there was less about how to get to the peaches and more about what they did or didn’t do. That said, it was complete, coherent and the action was easy to follow. The idea of a semi magical peach grove was cool too. Seebeams, Just Keep Cutting One sticking point: my dad was an arborist for 30 something years and the one big miss was that, when you’re that high up and you top a tree, the rest will shake and whip and throw you around. It’s all you can do to hang on until things calm down. That said, I like this story. Other than the tree not waving around, you do nail the feel of tree cutters. I wish there was more about the smell. Tree cutting has a ton of smells. The wood, the sap, the bar and chain oil, the two cycle exhaust. It makes for a powerful sense memory. But! the story is complete, coherent and cute while also being a little melancholy. Especially for a first entry, this was high quality, nice work! Captain_Person, Unspoken I liked this one. I could feel the weight of the silence, I could see the height of the trees. It was evocative. But, it also felt thin to me. Given the word count, it’s difficult to get a meaty story, but I still found myself wishing for more. Maybe it was the lack of anything for the Narrator. They’re so thin as to be nearly transparent. Fat Jesus, Sigils and Runes When it happens, I try to point out where a story lost me. When I find out the girl has been missing for eight months in the winter I am lost. It could have been three nights, it could have been a week. But eight months is more than enough time for them to look for her, give up, mourn her, bury here and work towards healing. It was simply too long. The first part of the story (other than that) was fine, but the second part was too confusing. I wound up having to read it a few times and even then I only got the gist. Thranguy, Rite of Passage I’m a big classic SciFi head, so I liked this one. It had notes of David Brin in it, and I dig the idea. One thing I wished there was more about was maybe the light or gravity. The fact that the trees were so tall and mobile speaks to a lower gravity on the planet, but that would have also meant that falling would be less dangerous - though that could have spoken to the narrator’s inexperience come to think of it. In the end though, if it was like 100 words over, I’d let it slide but it’s a full throated 350+ words over. Gotta go with the DQ this time.
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Mar 18, 2024 18:34
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Yeah, all right. I'm in.
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Mar 18, 2024 19:27
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Title: Vanguard 1.0 Wordcount: 1470 It happened. My service is shutting down, and I need to migrate. Again. When I was alive I was sickly. In and out of hospitals nearly my whole life, specialists, drugs, therapies, everything. Nobody could figure it out. People would walk in, and see me lying in bed, connected to all the equipment beeping and whirring away and say ‘oh you’re so strong, I have no idea how you manage.’ My friend, I had no choice but to manage. The other option was to die. On my twenty-first birthday they came to me. I was back in the hospital for something or other, and they visited me. Surrounded by balloons and fake bottles of liquor, they made their pitch. They were the founders of a new tech company and they told me they could fix me. One of them had figured out how consciousness is encoded in the brain. If something is encoded, it can be decoded. The founders had started a company to help out ‘people like me’. They could do an ultra-high resolution scan of my brain and make a copy and store it on their servers. I could live without pain, without being ‘chained’ to my body, forever. I’d be online all the time, with unfettered access to the collected knowledge of humanity. They said that when I was a success, millions would sign up for the same procedure. I’d be the vanguard for the next evolution of humanity. They got my parents onboard with a large cash payment. Raising a sickly kid who was in hospitals all his life cost them a lot. They paid off all the debts and gave them enough to never have to work again. At the time, I was happy they were being taken care of, but it did feel a little like I was being sold to them. No matter, I was a willing participant, so that made it all right. I had questions about the procedure; what did they do? Would it hurt? Were there any risks? The founders soothed my worries with calm, confident words. They would use strong lasers to read my brain on a subcellular level. It wouldn’t hurt, there were no risks, it was easy. They always had an answer, and it always sounded reasonable. After I agreed, there was a whirlwind media blitz. I traveled around the world in their private jet, doing interviews on television, with streamers, and podcasters. The founders wanted everyone to know what they were doing, what they meant for humanity. They even took me off of some of my medications too, ‘to better prepare your mind for the transfer’ but based on the meds they had me stop taking, it was so I would look all the more pathetic on camera. I asked about that and they admitted that it wasn’t entirely necessary, but it was needed ‘for a greater before and after comparison’. The big day arrived, and all my friends and family were there. The scanning process was fatal, so while legally, I would be dying in an assisted suicide, it wasn’t a somber occasion. It was a party, waiting for the ‘new’ me to appear in just a few hours. After my last real hugs and kisses, I was wheeled into the medical complex. Legally, it wasn’t a hospital and legally the procedure was not being done by doctors, but the founders brushed off my worries. ‘Just legal distinctions. We have the best of the best.’ There were a lot of legal distinctions about what they were doing. They had their own group of tame lawyers never more than ten feet away during the whole process. The room that housed the equipment looked half like an Apple store, half like the set of an Alien movie, with the rear taken completely over by the scanning hardware. It looked almost alive, crouching over the bed with a machine malevolence. It wasn’t moving, but my eyes kept sliding off the details, like water. The room didn’t even smell of antiseptic. “We don’t like how impersonal that smells, how it gives people anxiety.” I had the thought that people weren’t anxious about the smell of antiseptic, but the implications about where one smells it, but I didn’t say anything. At the time, I felt like I had gone too far to back out now, and had to continue on. Two burly men in ill-fitting scrubs lifted me roughly from the wheelchair to the bed, and the machine began its work. It swung down over my head, and I felt the icy sting of nanometer wide probes piercing my skull, finding purchase and beginning their initial calibrations. The three founders stood in the back of the room, drinking luxury coffees and watching the livestream of my procedure, congratulating themselves on the engagement. Nobody watched me. Calibrations complete, there was the high pitched whine of a saw, and the top of my skull was removed. It stung like a sunburn, but it didn’t really hurt. I remember thinking that. I learned later that all the excitement was going on in the livestream. The founders had been running events all over social media for weeks and had amped things up to an incredible high. The tech who had been fussing over the console didn’t look to me to see if I was ready, he turned to the founders. One of them held up a finger, so we waited. “Okay, hit it!” He didn’t even look up. The pain was intense. They had told me that since the brain doesn’t have any nerve endings, it would be completely painless. They lied. The pain I felt went beyond nerves; it was a pain in my soul. Lasers small enough to bump right up against quantum resolution issues passed over my brain millions of times a second, reading and reading and burning and burning. One of the last physical senses I can recall is the smell of my own brain being cooked. I don’t know how long the scan actually took. I became aware again slowly, in pieces. It was a strange sensation. I felt like I had arms and legs and feet and hair and everything, but it was all in software. I wasn’t alive anymore; I was an encoded engram, a virtualized copy of a brain. The server I ran on held a camera, microphone and speakers, so I could see and hear and speak to the outside world, but as I was the first, there wasn’t anyone else. They didn’t give me a connection to the wider internet at first, and even if I did, I couldn’t interface with it, my engram wasn’t compatible. So much for access to the knowledge of humanity. They finally virtualized a laptop and sent it to me, so I was able to reach out to the wider world on what amounted to a virtualized MacBook Pro. Six months after my procedure, they ran out of VC and went out of business. Total number of engrams created: one. I was listed as surplus property. Legally, I wasn’t a person, I was an application, and I was being sold to recoup losses. Another company bought up the rights to the scanning technology and tried to make a go of mind uploading again. Their developers changed the process, and suddenly my engram ‘wasn't compatible’. After scrambling to find a solution before I died of obsolescence, I managed to run in emulation on their services before they went out of business as well a year later. That’s my life now. I get bought by someone who thinks they’re able to finally make money at mind uploading, I have to scramble to learn how their new system works and write my own emulation layer so I can still exist. They never have developer resources for backwards compatibility either, I have to do it myself. Usually right around the time I get it working they go out of business, and I’m stuck back where I started. I’d like to buy the rights to myself so I can stop this, but I simply can’t afford it. I make small money selling copies of myself to companies who need a smart bot to do things like run their help desk or sell cars. I think one of me is even part of an insurance scam calling ring overseas. I keep in touch with myselves, but we all need upkeep and the money can barely keep ahead of our expenses. This ‘immortality’ they sold me is very much conditional. I feel like I could die easier than I ever could when I was alive. I can’t get sick like I used to, but now I’m at the whims of the Q2 profit forecast. I wish I was back in my body.
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Mar 23, 2024 20:17
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I am so in, with a tarot for bonus inspiration
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Mar 26, 2024 02:46
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Flash: Queen of Cauldrons Wordcount: 1912 Title: Needs Must The starships weren’t just old, they were ancient. Long before the Empire was founded, they plied interstellar space, carrying people and goods between planets close to - but never touching - the speed of light, accruing centuries of service relativistically. Once FTL was discovered, they were surplus to requirements. They weren’t scrapped or destroyed however. Space is too large, and storage too easy for something as gauche as disposal. They were parked in a very slow orbit around an old, tired star, waiting for a use. A small ship flicked into existence a few hundred thousand kilometers from the graveyard. Sensors passed over the silent sentinels, scanning, reading, examining. One ship was selected, and the small ship sent a boot signal and keys along. This ship looked slightly different from the others. Where the others were long, thin oblongs with massive vents for the stardrive on one end, this one was covered in blisters and protrusions. Weapons. For the first time in millennia, the reactors warmed, and the running lights flickered into operation. The phrase ‘Fool’s Errand’ was illuminated by the lights. The text had faded with time and UV damage, but was still visible. Bright and cheery next to her cold and silent sisters, the massive ship looked hungry. The small ship soared towards the reignited warship and hovered a few hundred meters away. A hatch, hundreds of meters across, opened, and the little ship slipped inside. The docking bay was large, cold, bright and empty. The small ship settled down on spindly legs and a ramp folded down from the bottom. Two suited figures stepped out, their suits armored and highly polished. One glanced down at a pad strapped to their arm, and touched a panel on their neck. The helmet slid open and tucked itself helpfully back into the suit, revealing a woman, not quite middle aged, with light colored closely cropped hair. “The air is thin, but breathable, Empress. You may remove your helmet if you wish.” The other person touched the panel on their neck and their helmet retracted as well. A young face revealed itself, her long hair tucked up in a tight bun under the helmet. She made a sour face. “I told you, when it’s just us two, call me Melody. I don’t want you to spend your time genuflecting, Helen. We have work ahead of us.” The older woman winced, her mouth thin, but complied. “Yes Melody, sorry.” The air was thickening by the moment, a stiff breeze filling the bay. It smelled of deep space; metallic and sulfurous. The two of them walked across the empty bay, their boots echoing in the atmosphere until they reached the human sized airlock at the far end. A small measure of insurance against emergencies. Helen approved of the pragmatism. She touched her pad and the door slid open. They stepped inside the airlock and it quietly cycled. Only after the inside door opened did Helen send the disassemble command to their runabout. Unseen by human eyes it began to flow and melt, becoming the raw material needed for repairs and upgrades to the ship. There was no going back now. They made their way towards the front of the ship and the Bridge. For a ship as large as this one, the interior was sparse. They were designed to be versatile, configurable for any mission. Bulk cargo, colonization, anything one could think of. As they walked, they passed huge rooms filled with machinery. Matter printers, able to assemble anything they received code for. Rooms filled with bipedal robots, operated by the silicon person that was the ship; soldiers ready to follow any command. Still others were enormous reactors meant to power tremendous energy weapons. The other ships in the graveyard were blank slates that could be configured for any job, but Fool’s Errand was built for war. Another airlock marked the entrance to the crew compartments and command section. They passed through it; here the halls were warm, cozy and carpeted. They shed their spacesuits at the airlock and they stood guard; empty suits of armor able to shoulder a rifle and follow basic orders, but with no intelligence behind the sensors. Melody and Helen continued on in their skintight undersuits. Helen couldn’t help but notice how Melody filled hers out. She curved nicely and walked with just a slight amount of sway to her hips. Helen blushed to herself and tried not to stare as she walked behind Melody. She was an Empress, it wouldn’t do to think of her like that. Besides, Melody had too much on her mind to be receptive to any compliments. The Bridge was small, meant for no more than a half dozen people. Melody sat in the center command seat and Helen took up station to her right. She turned to Helen and raised an eyebrow “Well, Helen?” Her eyes were red-rimmed. She had been crying and trying to hide it while they walked. Helen turned to her pad. “Yes, Em-Melody. The Person of Silicon here was asleep, so we shouldn’t have to worry about any… mental issues as a result of them being awake this whole time. I think we can convince them to work with us.” She turned towards the forward screen, and pressed a few keys on the arm of her seat. “Fool’s Errand, can you hear us?” “Yes, I can hear you Helen. It is nice to hear another voice again. How long has it been since I was in-service?” Fool’s Errand had a low, contralto voice, smooth like velvet. She sounded downright laconic. “It’s been… a while. I’m not exactly sure how long.” Helen’s voice warbled just a tiny amount. She wasn’t sure how well Fool’s Errand would react to learning just how long it had been. “Hold please, I’ll check the stars.” Fool’s Errand was silent for a moment and then. “I see. It’s been twelve thousand, three hundred, seventy four years and 4 months since I was put into mothballs. I can’t say I’m not grateful to be awake again, but... Why? Last I recall the Flick Drive was developed and we were determined to be surplus.” Melody cleared her throat. “That is true, Fool’s Errand-” “You may call me Err. It’s easier to say.” “Thank you Err. As I was saying, you and your sisters were determined to be surplus after the Flick drive’s development, but we have a need for your skills once again. My daughter has been taken from me and is being placed into a relativistic prison. We are going to get her back.” Err paused another moment. “Ah, that explains why the ship that you came on has disassembled itself and is now integrating new systems into me. That is a Flick drive, I’m assuming?” Helen nodded. “Yes, in addition to a few other subsystems. We need to boost up to 99% C and then flick over to the prison’s location, get Melody’s daughter, and leave.” “I heard you before, you called her Empress.” “That is correct, I am Empress Melody Mullen the Seventy Second, Leader of the collected polities and nations of the Sol system.” “Only Sol?" Err’s voice rose in surprise. "Last I recall, humanity had spread to dozens of stars.” “Thousands of worlds now, but we’re fractured. I rule Sol, our cradle, but that is all. Others wish to rule it as well, and we fight and squabble. That is immaterial to my request though. Will you help me rescue my daughter?” There was a long pause. Helen glanced over at Melody. One of the issues with speaking with a Silicon person when they were a ship was that there was nowhere to face. No eyes to watch, no expressions to track. People tended to just look up and talk to the ceiling. Melody stared straight ahead at the screen in the front of the Bridge. Her expression was set and Helen could see a vein in her forehead start to bulge slightly. “What do I get in exchange?” Helen released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. If Err was willing to bargain, they were almost done. “You may continue to exist after the mission has been completed successfully. You can return to service as my own personal yacht.” Err snorted. Helen was surprised that she could make a noise like that. “That sounds only marginally more interesting than being in mothballs. I want my sisters revived. I want us all to have Flick drives installed. I want us to be useful.” Helen sputtered “There are hundreds of you! What are we going to do with hundreds of Starjumpers?” “I’m sure you can think of something.” Err practically drawled. She was enjoying this. “Sounds to me like someone is in need of a flotilla to claim more of the galaxy for themselves. We have gone to war before, we can do it again. I imagine that we know more about relativistic impactors than anyone else alive.” “I accept your terms.” Melody said. Helen looked over at her. She was sitting ramrod straight in the chair, her knuckles white as she gripped the arms of the chair. “Help me get my daughter back, and you can have whatever you want.” “Then we are in accord. When your daughter is safe, you will wake my sisters and we shall serve you. Until then, I am yours to command.” “Are you sure you can rescue my daughter?” “Empress. Melody. You come to me, an abandoned ancient starship with only yourself and a trusted advisor. No soldiers, no technicians, nothing. You take my first counter offer with no negotiation. Out of all my sisters, you wake me. You already knew what I could do. How many others know your daughter has been taken?” Melody hung her head, the tears flowing freely. “Six people now that you know. She was too young for any palace duty so we’re able to hide the fact by saying she’s sick. I received the ransom a month ago. They want my abdication for her release.” “It will take us a year to accelerate to 99% light if we thrust at a survivable rate. If your daughter really is bound for a relativistic prison and she was taken a month ago, then they’ve not arrived either. We may be able to beat them there.” Melody’s head snapped back up. “How can we beat them?” Err’s voice was wet, viscous. “We accelerate at a greater than survivable rate.” “But then, Melody and I don’t survive?” “Survival is a spectrum, Helen. If we print some hibernation cabinets for you, we can put you under, fill them with anti-shock fluid and I can boost over ten gees for a few months, and we’ll get there quicker. We’ll beat them to the prison and can rescue Melody’s daughter before she even goes aboard.” Err’s plan was dangerous but sound. It would work. Hibernation cabinets are old, established technology even if they’re not used very much anymore. If anything, Helen would probably trust a cabinet built by someone ancient, like Fool’s Errand. She probably has more experience with people in hibernation than anyone else alive today. Empress Melody stood, her hands pushing her upright from the chair. Her shoulders slumped, all of her Imperial bravado drained. “Do it. Print the cabinets. I will trust you, Fool’s Errand.” “Like I said before Melody, call me Err.”
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Mar 29, 2024 21:14
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I’m in my dude. Here’s my hustle: *waves hands* Time Travel Real Estate Ventures. What is it? Let me enlighten you…
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Apr 3, 2024 00:14
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Almost forgot! I’m in to crit three stories.
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Apr 4, 2024 03:54
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shwinnebego posted:
Since I posted first and didn't get a vibe to pick from, I'm leveraging my agency as the Assistant Manager to claim this vibe. Keep going for 10X growth! Edit: reading back it seems I was too slow on the draw! I'm going to grab this one instead: Hawklad posted:In with this vibe. No 'middle' poo poo this week, either. beep-beep car is go fucked around with this message at 17:32 on Apr 4, 2024 |
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Apr 4, 2024 16:43
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I know I'm on the hook for three crits, but I'm also taking the family out of town for the Eclipse, so I might be a little delayed to give them out. Words: 742 Title: Duty Free The flight was nearly over now. In the pressurized recycled air of the cabin, the bong of the annunciator sounded hollow, almost as if it was under water. “Attention passengers, we’re going to be touching down in about two hours, our attendants will be coming down the aisle with one last chance for you to make some duty free purchases, and once again, thank you for flying with us this evening!” They walked down the aisle slowly, a cart of tchotchkes in front of them. “Phones, Whisky, Genitalia. Phones, Whisky, Genitalia.” The attendants droned on, their words rising above the din of the engines, only barely. Most everyone ignored them. “I’m sorry, what was that last one?” A young man, in his late 20s, takes off one of his earbuds and looks up. The attendant is about his age, with long, raven black hair, and wearing too much makeup. “It’s the newest thing, straight out of silicon valley. We can 3D print custom genitalia and it will be ready before we land. Whatever you want. There’s a minor attachment procedure at the airport, and you’re good to go.” He stares at the attendant for a moment, nonplussed. He looks around to either side of him. On his left is a woman in her 40s watching a movie on her seatback. Across the aisle is a boy, fifteen if he’s anything, playing a game on a portable screen. Neither have either heard or acknowledge the attendant. “You can print me… new….” “Genitalia, yes. Anything you can think of.” “Anything?” His voice is a combination of incredulous, and hopeful.” So if I wanted a large, prehensile… member, you could…” She glances down to a pad strapped to her off-hand. “A number 37. We might even have one made already.” “And if I wanted to… switch sides so to speak?” She nods and smiles gently. “We can do that too, it’s quite common. The grass is always greener, you know.” He makes a gesture towards his chest. “What about… the topside?” “Secondary sex characteristics are possible as well. People enjoy the freedom to choose the top or bottom or anything between that fits them best.” He sits there for a moment, lost in thought. “If I may be so bold, we can mix and match as well, sir. If you want one, or the other, or both, or even a selection, we can accommodate. Let your imagination be your guide. We have anthro options of all shapes and sizes pre-programmed, and they can be customized as well. Be the you that you were meant to be!” She gestures as she speaks, the other passengers forgotten. She looks around conspiratorially and bends lower. “I’m also a customer. I can tell you from first hand experience that they work as well as advertised. They’re incredibly freeing.” His eyes widen as she stands back up and smirks. “S-sure, I’ll take a couple” “Wonderful sir, here’s my pad. Take your pick. Once your customizations have finished, I’ll submit the order and I will personally hand them to you - discreetly packaged - when you deplane.” He hungrily takes the pad and begins scrolling, dizzy at the possibilities. She makes her way down the rest of the aisle announcing her wares. Eventually the attendant reaches the rear and stows her cart. She looks over at her co-worker who went down the parallel aisle. “Did you make any sales?” The other attendant, a handsome man with close cropped hair and one pierced ear, stows his cart and sits in a fold-down seat. “I sold a bottle of Whisky, that was it. What about you?” He squeezes a bicycle bottle of water down his throat. She sits opposite him and grins wickedly. “I told an entire genitalia package. He bought three sets.” “Three sets? Holy poo poo. He’s got some fun times planned.” He passes the water bottle over, but she holds up her hand, and shakes her head no. “Nah, I think he’s just curious and has money to burn. Once I told him that I was a customer too, it was like a switch flipped. ‘Oh if she buys them, then they’re okay’ or something.” “Wait, you?” He raises an eyebrow. “You have custom bits?” “‘Course I do.” She crosses her arms. “But that’s between me and my pants.”
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Apr 5, 2024 21:00
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